Both Sides Now
by PinkElephant5
Summary: "At least Jo didn't witness his death moments ago, but she happened to be looking for him in exactly the right place now. Unless he didn't want his partner to find him emerging from the East River naked, yet again; then it was exactly the wrong place. This would be so much simpler if he were still bleeding to death." One story, told from above and below the water line.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N**: This is my first fanfic after a long writing hiatus, and I'm dipping my toes in a different fandom to boot. My apologies to any NYC natives for playing it fast and loose with the cartography of the East River.

Setting is sometime after 1x11, Skinny Dipper. A few minor spoilers to that point.

* * *

BOTH SIDES NOW

CHAPTER 1

Henry broke the dark surface of the river with a gasp and began swimming for shore out of habit. When his memories of the last hour came rushing back, he abruptly halted. He treaded water and blinked through the rivulets of salt water running down his hair and into his eyes, trying to get a good look at the shore. It looked mostly like a series of smeared or glowing points of light in the dark of the moonless night, but he exhaled in relief. There were no flashing police lights. Not yet, anyway.

Just as he was about to head for land, he heard her.

"Henry! Henry, where are you?"

Jo was half-running down the sidewalk that followed the waterway through the park, yelling his name across the water and scanning the surface with her trained cop eyes. She was still too far away to see him, but she was closing in fast.

Henry silently berated God, the fates, or whatever strange luck governed his life for putting him in this position. At least Jo hadn't witnessed his death moments ago, but since he had been in the East River when he disappeared, she happened to be looking for him in exactly the right place.

The right place, unless he didn't want his partner to find him emerging from the river naked, yet again; then it was exactly the wrong place. And she was getting closer.

Naked or not, this would all be much simpler if he were still bleeding to death.

* * *

_He had better be alive when I find him_, Jo thought, s_o I can kill him myself._

She continued quickly down the sidewalk, alert for the smallest disturbance in the water. It was bad enough that Henry's theory had gotten them both trapped on a speeding yacht with a desperate, armed suspect named Donny Sherman and no backup. At least she had managed to convince Sherman to stop the boat, but that had also freed up his hands to draw his gun. That's when Henry had thrown himself right smack into the wrong place.

_"Henry, what the hell are you doing?! Get out of the way!"_

_He was grappling with Sherman, his body between her and the gun. _

_A shot suddenly echoed across the water, slightly muffled, and Sherman staggered back, apparently shocked by what had happened, but otherwise unharmed. Henry, on the other hand, held his hands to a spreading dark patch under his left clavicle._

_He grimace-smiled as he said, "It looks worse than it is–I don't believe he hit any arteries." _

_Jo frowned as she trained her gun on the suspect and ordered him to drop his weapon. He was still holding his gun, but the fight had gone out of him. Jo was torn between skepticism and worry for her partner. _

_"Not to question your skills, Doc, but that looks awfully close to your heart." And there was so much blood._

_Henry looked her in the eyes, and she could've sworn she saw an apology there as he said, "Don't worry."_

_ A moment later, he groaned, stumbled, pitched sideways, and fell overboard._

Jo shook off the image. That was the last time she had seen him, nearly ten minutes ago, and she refused to accept it as her last memory of Henry alive. She took a deep breath and yelled at the top of her lungs.

"HENRY!"

* * *

With a deep breath, Henry dropped under the waterline and waited. She was getting close enough to see him, and he wasn't ready. Hopefully, his lung capacity would outlast her search along this stretch of the river. He hated to leave her so worried, so scared for his life, and he knew he was a coward, but he wasn't ready. His partner had seen him shot at contact range and fall overboard. Explaining away his clothes he could manage; embarrassing as it was, he'd done it many times before. Talking his way out of a bullet wound would prove more difficult.

She had been right: he had not been shot in the shoulder. The bullet may not have gone straight through his heart, but it came close enough to make his death unavoidable. The best he could manage in that moment was to downplay his injury and get off the boat before he died. Once he reawakened, "conveniently" just downstream, he could weigh his options.

Unfortunately, good options were still playing hard to get, and now his lungs were starting to strain. Breathing wasn't critical yet, but staying hidden was increasingly difficult. All he could hear from his current position three feet underwater were rumbles from passing boat motors and honks from cars on the nearby bridges. He had no way of telling where Jo was unless he surfaced.

What was wrong with him? Why had he done it—jumped in to grab an armed suspect? In the moment, he thought he was using his immortality to protect his mortal partner from danger. But he knew she was a very capable officer who had managed to stay alive without him for years. Was this some sort of misplaced chivalry, or a pathetically impossible death wish?

Henry's lungs were burning now. He estimated that he would black out in less than a minute. Yet he thought he'd prefer to die for the second time tonight, rather than let Jo see who he really was.

What was wrong with him?

* * *

What was with this guy, anyway? How many times in the last year had he thrown himself in front of a bullet, or a speeding car, or some other ridiculous and deadly thing? He wasn't even a cop, for God's sake; he was a doctor. A weird doctor with a lot of scarves and even more crazy theories, but Jo liked him anyway. Okay, maybe she liked him _because_ of his scarves and theories. The man had his secrets, but didn't everyone?

She continued to scan the water and call his name as she half-walked, half-ran along the shore. Five more minutes and she was calling search and rescue. She hoped to God they wouldn't need the body recovery divers.

Maybe he was unusually private, but he didn't strike her as the suicidal type. At least, he didn't used to. Something had changed since the Clark Walker case, and it wasn't just the normal guilt that every cop feels after taking a life. She was sure that something else had happened between him and his stalker, something he hadn't told her about, and it was making him more reckless.

In the end it didn't matter why he kept jumping in front of bullets; it didn't make him invincible.

She made the call to search and rescue.

* * *

Henry knew he wasn't invincible. Immortal, yes, but not invincible. The distinction was important.

For example, if he were invincible, he wouldn't be bobbing under the surface of the East River like an old shoe while his partner frantically searched for him. If he were invincible, the suspect would not have gotten the better of him and pulled the trigger.

If he were invincible, he wouldn't be naked right now.

Or out of oxygen.

Henry's beleaguered survival instinct finally won out, and he surfaced with a stifled gasp.

* * *

Jo strained to hear anything at all from where she had stopped to listen, but nothing sounded even remotely like a bleeding, drowning medical examiner. If Henry had come ashore anywhere nearby, he was being incredibly stealthy about it. Unless he _couldn't_ answer her, because—

No. Not that.

Jo was torn between fear and epic levels of exasperation. Since the latter would mean that Henry was still alive and would soon be feeding her some ridiculous story about a rescue by friendly night fisherman, and how he had used rare seaweed to staunch his bullet wound, she chose exasperation.

Just then, red and blue lights joined the other rippling reflections on the river. Jo turned around to see Hanson pulling off from the parkway beside her. He stepped out of the driver's side door and called over the roof. "Any sign of him?"

Jo shook her head. "Nothing yet."

He circled in front of the car to come stand next to her, looking out over the water. "Search and rescue will be here in five." Hanson darted his eyes toward her without turning his head. "Don't worry, he'll be fine. The guy's like a cat. He'll turn up soon, good as new and spouting some classic Henry Morgan theory."

Jo smiled tightly. "Except he wasn't fine. He was shot. And he's been burning through a lot of lives lately. What if this was number nine?"

"C'mon, you don't believe that," chided Hanson with practiced nonchalance, and he turned and started back to his car. "Hop in. They're picking us up at the next pier. You can show them where to start looking, and I can get some footage for next year's Christmas party. God, I love smart phones."

* * *

All he needed was a phone. A phone, and some trousers. But he would settle for a phone.

He had managed to stay underwater until she'd passed further downstream. She hadn't seen him surface. Mission accomplished, but now he felt guilty.

_Tell her, Henry_.

The voice in his head sounded a lot like Abe. He ignored this one, too.

He moved closer to shore and scanned his options, and he spotted his lucky break. A small white cloud was rising from behind a grassy hill near the water, and Henry could smell a very distinctive odor wafting with it. Thankfully, there was no one else in sight for the moment, and he seized the opportunity. As casually as possible, he walked out of the water and around the rise. The source of the smoke was a trio of high school boys wearing black t-shirts with assorted band logos. They took his sudden and clothing-free appearance in stride, as Henry expected they would.

"Whoa, that guy is naked. Yo! You are buck. ass. naked, bra!"

In his experience, potheads made ideal "first contacts" after a reawakening. They nearly always carried cell phones, and they cheerfully loaned them to wet, naked strangers without hesitation. This group did not disappoint him, and a few minutes later Abe was on his way.

Henry politely declined their offer to share a joint and instead walked back into the water, much to their delight. ("Back to the sea, naked English dude! Back to the sea!") The cloud of smoke around them was spreading, and this was a very bad time for him to get caught by a passing patrol. Any officers within a quarter mile who had functioning noses were surely en route already. He swam upstream to the next easy access point, the spot where he had asked Abe to meet him, and waited.

Most of their brief conversation had been the usual (if one could ever call it _usual_), but Henry had surprised Abe with one final request:

"Bring your gun."'

* * *

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **Here is the second and final part—just a quick out-and-back into the Forever world. Thanks for the follows, faves, and reviews! It's no fun to fic a fandom in a vacuum. :)

Also, I randomly gave Jo a brother, because I can't remember if we've learned any specifics about siblings. If you have noticed canon deets about her family, please do let me know!

* * *

BOTH SIDES NOW

CHAPTER 2

Jo had a much better view of the water from the search and rescue boat, but so far it wasn't helping. Still no sign of Henry. They had begun searching the opposite shore from the marina, half a mile upstream from where he'd hit the water, and they were working their way down. The yacht had been close to the center of the channel when he went overboard, so maybe he'd gotten disoriented and headed the wrong way. _Disoriented and weak from blood loss_, she thought grimly.

The boat's massive flood lights methodically swept the shoreline, while on the port side more lights searched the deeper water. Jo's mind wandered back to the last time the NYPD found Henry in the East River, and a chuckle escaped her.

Hanson turned to her. "What, do you see something?"

She shook her head. "I just got a mental picture of finding him wearing those swim goggles and red Speedos you gave him."

Hanson snorted. "See? It was a very thoughtful gift for a guy who ends up in the water so often."

"Why do you suppose that is?" Jo asked. "I mean, seriously. This river is salty, polluted, and dangerous. What's the appeal of midnight swims? Or any swims?"

Hanson shrugged. "Don't ask me. Maybe he's one of those thrill-seeking types; all repressed and British on the outside, kinky on the inside. You know the guy better than anyone, what do you think?"

Jo sighed. "When I was a kid, my brother and I used to play Spy vs. Spy with the neighbor boys, the Garcias. He and I would write messages in code to each other using a key we'd memorized, and the Garcia boys got so mad because they could never crack the code. I think there's a key to understanding Henry Morgan, and I don't have it yet." Jo smiled to herself, and Hanson couldn't be sure if it was her childhood friends or Henry who inspired it. He had an idea, though.

That's when they heard the shot.

* * *

Abe pulled up and opened the passenger door as Henry hurried to the car, gratefully picking up the bundle of towel and clothes sitting on the seat.

"Are these the specific clothes I asked for?" he asked without preamble. "I need to look like I haven't changed."

"Yes, of course they are. Henry, what's going on?" Abe demanded. "Why do you need a gun?"

"Jo and I were pursuing a lead and ended up with the suspect on a yacht in the middle of the river. There was a struggle. I was shot."

Abe blinked in surprise. "Jo actually saw you die?"

"Not exactly. I pretended the shot went through my shoulder, then I fell overboard." Henry continued to put his clothes on while seated, a skill he had perfected over the years.

"And it wasn't really through your shoulder."

"No. Nicked my aorta, I suspect. Possibly a ventricle. If I hadn't managed to get out of sight she would have seen me die and disappear about seven minutes later. As it is, she is now searching this very stretch of the river looking for me." He finished buttoning up his shirt and looked at Abe. "And I'm supposed to have a gunshot wound in my shoulder."

Abe shook his head. "No. Absolutely not. I am not shooting you."

"You don't have to! Sherman shot me in direct contact, so I can recreate the wound myself—in a less fatal place, of course. I just need a gun."

"Listen to yourself. This is crazy!"

"Abraham, please! This is the only way I can—"

"Can what?" he interrupted. "Keep your secret from Jo? You can trust her. You know know it, and I know it. Maybe it's time, Henry. Time to let someone else in."

Henry was silent for a moment before he finally answered. "You're right. I do trust her, and I believe I will tell her—in time. Just not tonight. I'm not quite ready yet." He looked up with eyes near to pleading. "You know what a difficult moment revealing the truth will be for me, Abraham. Help me choose a better moment than this one."

Abe gave him a long, searching look, then nodded. He reached into a bag in the back seat and pulled out a revolver, antique but well-maintained.

"All right. You aim and I'll fire."

Henry shook his head. "No. Jo and the search team are close. You need to be gone before they hear the shot and come running, or we'll have even more creative explaining to do."

They both got out of the car and walked to the water line. Henry took the gun and waded out until the water was waist-deep, then dunked everything but the gun under the surface to soak his clothes.

"Are you sure about this?" Abe asked.

Henry nodded. "I'll be fine, Abe; I always am." He smiled. "Now go. And thank you. I'll see you soon."

Abe raised his eyebrows and turned back to the car, calling over his shoulder, "You call this fine?"

Henry waited until the car had turned away from the river and out of sight. He positioned the gun against his shoulder in a way that would inflict the least serious damage, although it was still going to bleed like hell. He would need to throw the gun out into the river when he was done. He silently apologized to Abe for losing such a fine piece—World War I service revolver, only minor scratches in the hilt— and wondered if he might find it next time he reawakened.

For now, one death at a time. He double-checked the gun's angle, took a decisive breath in and out, and fired.

Damn it, he hated being shot.

* * *

The gun report had come from nearby, echoing across the water, making it hard to locate exactly, but Jo knew it was close. She also knew that it would lead her to Henry, because of course he was involved in whatever dangerous thing was happening within reach. They turned the boat toward their best guess at the source of the sound, back to the opposite bank.

Within ten minutes, they found him half-hidden behind a rocky outcrop. Jo climbed over the side of the boat once it came shallow enough and waded to where he was sitting on the shore, barely clear of the water, wet and shivering and cradling his arm. He had taken off his jacket and somehow tied it around his shoulder to slow the bleeding, but Jo could see a lot of blood saturating his formerly white shirt, and more still seeping down his arm. She knelt next to him and put her hands on his face, his leg, his back, his good arm, unconsciously reassuring herself he was really there.

"Henry! Thank God!"

"Ah. Jo. You're here. Good." He spoke in short, breathy bursts. "Would you please...call an ambulance? I believe I'm about to..." and with that, he slumped forward. Jo put a hand to his chest to stop him from falling, then she quickly scooted behind him and wrapped one arm around his waist and the other under his uninjured shoulder, steadying him at a half-reclined angle. She spoke into his ear, her voice a little hoarse from yelling so much already.

"Henry! Henry, wake up! Are you awake?"

"I...yes...no need to shout..."

"Henry, the ambulance is almost here. If you pass out you can't tell them exactly what the bullet hit. Unless you don't know?" she baited him.

If a man in severe shock can look affronted, he did. "Don't be...of course I do..."

"So tell me. What do the live-people doctors need to know?"

In a slurred, half-conscious voice, he began to catalog his injuries and recommended treatments. He had gotten to his favorite whip stitch options when the ambulance arrived. They stabilized him, and a young EMT with a kind face asked Jo if she wanted to ride along. She nodded gratefully and climbed in. She didn't let go of Henry's hand until the doctors in the ER wheeled him out of sight.

* * *

"Jo?" Henry murmured when he first opened his eyes late the next morning, but it was not her face he found leaning over his hospital bed.

"Hey, look who's finally awake!"

"Hello, Abraham." He scanned the room, but no one else was there. "I thought I heard—"

"Jo?" Abe guessed. "So you said. She just stepped out for some coffee. She's been here all night." His look held mild accusation. "You really worried her with that stunt. I wasn't so fond of it either."

"I know, and I'm sorry. It wasn't my intention to hurt either of you."

Abe pulled his chair a little closer. "I know you think you're protecting her by not sharing your secret, and you think you're protecting yourself, but Henry, you need someone else on your side who knows the truth."

"I've got you."

"And I won't be around forever!" Abe said in a burst, then waved off Henry's interruption. "No, don't protest. I may be hale and hearty now, but I'm just a mortal schmuck like the rest of humanity—present company excepted. You need someone young you can trust. Preferably someone with a car, who doesn't mind fishing you out of the river once in a while, because I wouldn't mind sharing _that_ job, especially when you call right in the middle of dinner with—"

"Abe, you're starting to ramble."

Abe sighed and put a hand on Henry's arm. "You want to trust Jo, you just don't know where to start. The answer is— start anywhere."

Henry smiled wryly. "Sometimes you are entirely too perceptive."

"You're a hard man to know, but in 70 years I've made some progress." Not letting the topic slide, he pinned the man who raised him with a shrewd gaze and said, "It's time, Henry."

"Time for what?" Jo stood in the doorway, holding two machine-dispensed cups of coffee.

"There she is!" Abe jumped up, ignoring the question, and took one cup off her hands. "Didn't I tell you he would wake up the minute you left the room?"

She crossed to the seat Abe had just vacated, set her coffee on the bedside table, and took Henry's hand. "Hey, how do you feel?"

He grimaced a little. "Like I've been shot."

"Yeah, well, that happens when you wrestle with people holding guns." Her hand stayed wrapped around his, but neither of them seemed aware of the gesture. Abe couldn't remember the last time Henry had gotten to "unconscious contact" stage with anyone besides him—fifty years?— and it made him smile.

"Did you get him?" Henry asked.

"Sherman? Yeah, we got him. I think he was more surprised than anyone that he shot you. It's easy to cuff suspects when they're stunned."

"Happy to be of service."

Her face suddenly turned serious. "Henry, that was incredibly stupid. You know that, right?"

"Yes, I know." He had the good sense to look penitent.

She went on, picking up steam. "I am still wearing yesterday's clothes, which smell like river, I don't have a toothbrush, there's apparently a mountain of paperwork involved when the M.E. gets shot while partnering with you in the field, and you scared the hell out of me. So don't do that again, got it?"

"I promise."

"Okay." She squeezed his hand and stood up to leave when she suddenly remembered something. "Where did the second shot come from?"

He raised his eyebrows innocently. "The what?"

"The second shot. The one that led us back to you."

He feigned confusion. "I heard it as well, but I assumed that Sherman tried to escape and one of you fired."

She narrowed her eyes. "No, it didn't come from the yacht."

Henry frowned. "How strange. It must have been a lucky coincidence."

"Yes, very lucky." Jo looked skeptical, but she didn't have any evidence to contradict him, so she let it go for now. "Well, I'll leave you to rest. Promise me you'll take it easy? I told Lucas to hide your tools until Monday at the earliest, so don't bother coming in before then."

"I'll keep an eye on him," Abe offered. "He puts one toe out of line and I'll call you right away."

Henry raised his uninjured hand in surrender. "I know when I'm outnumbered. Don't worry, I will take it easy—for a few days, anyway."

"Good." She started to leave again, but he called her name and she stopped in the doorway.

"Jo, thank you for coming to find me. Not just last night—I mean that first case after the subway crash, as well. Our partnership, your friendship...they mean a lot to me."

She smiled, knowing how much it took for him to say those words. "You're welcome. But Henry?" she added, "Steer clear of the river for a while. Fishing you out is becoming a regular thing with us, and that's...kind of weird."

He smiled back. "You have no idea."

After she was gone, he finished his sentence.

"Not yet, anyway."

* * *

She was halfway down the hall when she finished his sentence.

_You have no idea._

"No, I don't. But I will."

THE END

* * *

_Thanks for reading! Feedback welcome. This story was kind of a warm-up to get my cogs turning, so hopefully they'll keep turning and I'll post more in the near(ish) future._


End file.
